Adoption in the Regency

I was doing a little rTelling storyesearch into one of the Regency staples the other day – the rescued waif.  This story standby typically involves a girl adopted into a noble family, treated as one of them, inheriting with the others.  

Would this actually work? I asks meself. 

So I look about a bit and decided,
loosely speaking — yes.
Strictly speaking — no.

And isn't that helpful?

Sometimes we
speak of 'adoption' in a fuzzy, imprecise way.  But there's an important distinction
between legally taking a child to stand in the position of a biological
child with all the rights and responsibilities that come with that versus assuming care and
custody of a child in a limited or informal way. 

Until
the 1920s, there was no formal legal mechanism for adopting children in
Great Britain.
No.  I didn't know that either.
I just love finding out stuff when I go researching.

"Why any kid would want to be an orphan is beyond me."
Miss Hannigan

What you had in Britain was just a whole variety of fostering, indenture,
wardship, guardianship,
apprenticeship, and various less-formal-arrangement-ships . . .  but
nothing that put the child on an equal footing with children born in a
marriage. 

So how did they manage the whole orphaned-child problem?Late c19 photoe

Ordinary
working folk, from simple decency or from a desire for another pair of
working hands, would often take in a neighbor's child when the parents
died.  Mistress Taylor down the road might take in a girl who could help with her little ones.  The local vicar might find space for another scullery maid in
the kitchen.  No official legal guardianship was established, but
everybody in the village likely sighed in relief and went on to other problems,
of which they doubtless had a plenitude.

If no
one stepped forward to care for orphans, they 'fell upon the parish',
which was a hard place to land.
George-cruikshank-oliver-asking-for-more-illustration-for-oliver-twist-by-charles-dickens-colour-litho-_i-G-65-6508-IHN6100ZLocal officials might solve the
problem of these pesky orphans by apprenticing them. 

This
apprenticeship was a mixed bag. 

For parish orphans, it might be called
the poor man's guardianship.  The contract gave the master rights over
the child, but also bound him to feed, clothe, care for the child, and
train him
or her up in a trade.  In
earlier centuries, apprentices were often treated as part of the
household — an extended quasi family of Master, servants and
apprentices.  Even in 1820, in Rural Rides, Cobbett could still
speak of traditional farms where master and servants, dairymaids and the
farmer's daughters sat down at the same table, a disparate but united
household.

Unfortunately, few localities had the
funds to bid children to desirable places.  (One common form of charity was
to leave money in one's will to buy apprenticeships for poor boys.)  

Some orphans got lucky. Some, like Oliver Twist, not so much.

Looking up into the upper echelons of society, since that's where the fictional orphan above will end up —

The
laws and customs of primogeniture meant that men of substance, titled
or untitled, would often consider themselves
responsible for a widespread group of family, friends and dependents. 
They'd snabbled the property and money.  The flip side of that
concentration of wealth was they were expected to take care of the
family.  

So your average Merchant Prince or belted earl (why belted
and how was everybody else holding up their trousers?) might have a
pack of widows, spinsters, dotty great uncles and assorted orphans,
only tenuously connected to him, land on his doorstep, expecting to be
provided for. 

Remember in Heyer's Frederica.   Our heroine applies to the 'head of the family' — a very distant
cousin — for assistance.   He was the winner in the big primogeniture
lotto.  Time to pay up, bucko. 

 

Another sort of fosterage was not uncommon.   Couples without children of their own would often foster a child,
usually related, and raise it as their own.  The child would inherit
from this couple through the will.  For instance, Jane Austen's brother
Edward left his birth family to be fostered by a much richer cousin, Thomas Knight, and eventually inherited
the Knight estates.

Then there were guardianships.  I do not know why Romance heroes and heroines are so unlucky, but there are just troops of them under some kind of guardianship. 

There were several sorts of legal guardians.

 First off were guardians in socage.  This is for heirs and heiresses of landed property.  You do not have real estate, this is not for you. 

Blackstone says, "socage . . . who are also called
guardians by the common law.  These take place only
William Blackstonewhen the minor is
entitled to some estate in lands, and then by the common law the
guardianship devolves upon his next of kin, to whom the inheritance
cannot possibly descent ; as, where the estate descended from his
father, in this case his uncle by the mother's side cannot possibly
inherit this estate, and therefore shall be the guardian .
For the law judges it improper to trust the person of an infant in his
hands, who may be possibility become heir to him."
  Blackstone's Commentaries   

What
that is saying is that if the young woman has a piece of property —
say a nice house or half of Northumberland or something — her guardian will not be the
father's brother who is just bound to have wicked intentions toward her.  The custody of the child goes to the closest blood
relative who cannot inherit, who will scheme to marry her off to his fish-lipped son. 

Second, we
have guardians by nature.  That's going to be the father, first off, and
the mother, if the father is dead. When the father does not explicitly
appoint a guardian for a female
under sixteen, the guardian was the mother.  Her guardianship extends
until the girl reaches 21.  An mom doesn't get control of the property. 
Only to the
custody of the child. A man will be appointed guardian for the property.

Joan Wolf's The Arrangement deals with a situation of this nature.

Finally, there's the 'guardian by statute', or 'testamentary
guardians'.  This guardian is the one spelled out
in a will.  If we want young Hannah Tweeting to be left in the care of Lord
Farthing, all we have to do is put Farthing's name in her father's will.

". . . enacts, that any father, under age or
of full age, may by deed or will dispose of the custody of his child,
either born or unborn, to any person, except a popish recusant, either
in possession or reversion, till such child attains the age of one and
twenty years."
Blackstone's Commentaries

Only the father could appoint a guardian, not the mum.  If the appointed guardian was
unable or unwilling to serve, the guardian didn't have the right to
substitute another.  If nobody was named guardian or if the unfortunate man died, this ended in the Court of Chancery, where nobody wins.  One didn't inherit a guardianship. 

What all these formal and informal relationships had in common was that the child did
not legally become the child of the foster parents, equal in all
respects to those born to that couple.  The relationship
between foster child and foster parent or between guardian and ward was always more limited than modern adoption.

In Her Ladyship's Companion, my heroine Melissa was abandoned on
the doorstep of a Vicarage and raised by the Vicar as his own.  The
difference between a foster child taken in by kindness and a legally
adopted daughter of the modern sort becomes apparent when, upon the death of the Vicar,
poor Melissa is kicked out to fend for herself.  

So, could a titled nobleman adopt a child?
As I say, sorta.

While I
was looking at this subject, adoption, I ran down a mental list of fictional orphans  –  Jane Eyre, Heathcliff
in Wuthering Heights, (just about everybody in Wuthering Heights), Tom
Jones, Superman, Pip of Great Expectations, Oliver Twist, Harry Potter, Fanny
Price, Moll Flanders, John Worthing (The Importance of Being Ernest),
Penelope Creed (Heyer's Corinthian), Tarzan.

My favorite is Kim.
I just like his sass and style.

 

So tell me, who is your favorite fictional orphan and why?

One lucky commenter (US only) will win a copy of Mischief and Mistletoe.

Black Hawk

Black HawkJoanna here, talking about my new book, Black Hawk.

This is Adrian's story.  I don't know about anyone else, but I'm relieved the boy finally has his happy ending. 

We've met Hawker as a secondary character in the other books.  He's Hawker, or Adrian Hawker, or sometimes Sir Adrian Hawkhurst, depending who he's pretending to be and who he wants to impress.  He is deadly and sarcastic and maybe a bit too fond of sticking knives into people.  Naturally he has the making of a Romance hero.   
 
Two of the most dangerous spies of the Napoleonic War — on opposite sides, natch — fall in love.  Think Montague and Capulet.  Think Yankees and Red Sox.  Think Hannibal and Scipio Africanus.  Think about the owl and the hawk, two birds that  might share the sky for a while, but can't live together. 

Hawker rose up snarling out of the slums of London.  His mother was a country servant, forced Getty108271594 cropped for use2into prostitution when she turned up pregnant.  She dies under the fist of a brutal customer, leaving Hawker to survive alone on the streets. By the time he's ten, he's becomes the most cunning thief and the most skilled, ruthless assassin in the service of the King of Thieves.  He's rescued from that life, by the British Service who have uses for his particular skill set.

3237624_sJustine DeCabrillac, daughter of the nobility, is a woman just as formidable as Hawker.  Her parents die in the chaos of the Revolution and she is betrayed into a decadent child brothel.  She's rescued by a woman of the French Secret Police.  In time, Justine, too, becomes a great spy for France.

It was inevitable Justine and Adrian would meet.  The shifting intrigues of war and peace between England and France bring them together again and again, sometimes working toward a common goal.  Sometimes wholly at odds.  But a friendship forms between these two young spies, the best of their generation, based on common knowledge and common respect.  Spies of different nations have more in common with each other than with the armies clashing across battlefield or the civilians at home in bed. 

They become lovers.  3justine and adrian frm stk phot 4
This is a great error.

For Montague and Capulet, owl and hawk, tragedy is inevitable.  The demands of
loyalty will drag them apart. 
But they can't seem to stop.

Then, in two decisive confrontations — one on the steps of the Louvre, one outside Paris as armies advance to take the city — they hurt each other.  They do the unforgivable. They speak words that can't be taken back. 

Their love story is over.

Ironically, years later, when England and France are at peace and Justine has given up her old spy games, she learns of a plot to discredit and destroy Adrian.  She's attacked on her way to warn him and staggers into British Service Headquarters, bleeding.

As Adrian carries her upstairs, unconscious, he knows it's a second chance at love.  If they can work together, they might just find out who wants to kill Justine and frame Adrian.  If not, they'll both fall.

And, an excerpt:Adrian with beige background

 

His chin was shadowed with a need to shave. She had known a boy three years ago. She did not really know this young man.

I do not know how to ask. Everything I can say is ugly. I do not want this to be ugly.

She gave her attention to pouring hot water onto the tea leaves. Rain drummed on the roof. Since they were not talking, since they were not looking at each other, it seemed very loud. He said, “As soon as you drink that, you should leave. It’s getting worse out there.”

I must do this now, before I lose my courage. “I am hoping to spend the night.”  She chose words carefully, to clarify matters beyond any possibility of misunderstanding. “It is my wish to spend the night with you, in your bed.”

Hawker was silent. He would be this self-possessed if tribesmen of the Afghan plains burst through the door and attacked him with scimitars. The refusal to be ruffled was one of his least endearing traits.

Time stretched, very empty of comment, while she swirled the teapot gently and he was inscrutable.  Finally, he took the oil lamp from the end of the mantel and busied himself adjusting the wick, lighting it with a paper spill from the fire. “The hell you say.”

 

In the books you love, what love stories were never told? 

For me, it's the story of Cat in Sharon and Tom Curtis' Windflower.  I would love to read his story.

I'll be giving away a copy of Black Hawk to one lucky commentator.